How to tame John Watson
by J.A.Kishu
Summary: A new serial killer had already left his third victim behind. All evidence point to someone who had trained a beast to do his dirty work. But Sherlock finds a motive and everything changes. But why is John not by his side hunting the monster and hiding behind his work. Part 1 of Wolfes
1. The bloodthirsty Beast

**Chapter 1: The bloodthirsty Beast**

It was the second crime scene Sherlock was visiting without John this week and the third victim the newest serial killer of London had left behind. He couldn't understand why it was more important to work at the surgery than to come with him to a crime scene. It wasn't the prettiest of sights either: the killer's murder weapon was, as strange as it sounded, a wolf or a big dog. Sherlock and the police couldn't name the exact species. The only thing they were sure about is that it was a dog/wolf with a jaw strong enough to tear pieces of flesh from the bodies; but the paw prints were fare too big to belong to a dog or a wolf.

The lab results of the DNA found on the victims was not significant. The only thing that was clear was that the fur was black, it had sharp teeth and claws and it was at least the size of a pony, a big pony. But nothing neither the bodies nor the crime scene were able to tell Sherlock why John didn't want to accompany him.

He focused his mind again on the latest victim, a young woman not older than twenty. One of her arms was missing or better the arm was found 50 meters further away. Blood was everywhere between her body and where the arm lay. Traces of claw prints could be seen on her torso and it looked like the weight of the beast (Sherlock couldn't find a better name for it) had broken her leg as it stepped on her.

There wasn't any new clue, he couldn't find anything useful or different to the other crime scenes. There was no evidence for the presence of another person. The killer must have cleaned behind him but then the question was 'why not getting rid of all the evidence'? Why leave behind prints and fur when you could disappear completely? But the even better question was 'how does one tame such a big, strong and apparently wild animal to kill for you'?

Lestrade and his team were not really helping, that was the reason he was there. Because the police wasn't able to solve it alone. Not that Sherlock had shown much success so far. But without John next to him Sherlock couldn't really enjoy it. No John meant no praise, no friendly touch on his shoulder, no helping hand or a strict voice telling Sherlock when he was 'a bit not good'. He took a last look around, checking that he had seen everything and left without saying goodbye to the DI. These social things were 'dull', a waist of time. Why should he then?

Before he could go back to Baker Street he had two things to attend to.

* * *

The first one was at Bart's, where he wanted to ask Molly if she had found anything new. She was in the morgue where she was examining the second victim again. She looked up as he opened the door. A quick flash of red ran over her face but disappeared as fast as it had appeared. Molly straightened up and gave Sherlock a shy smile.

"Oh, hello Sherlock. You are here for the case, right? Sorry to tell you this but I couldn't find anything new or helpful. I just finished with the second victim. But maybe when the new one arrives I will be able to find something. I will let you know." She said quickly and nearly without babbling. She had changed her behavior around him in the last few months. Not that Sherlock would give her more or less attention. He thought she had finally overcome the crush she had on him.

"Thank you, Molly. I will keep in touch." To her he would always be nice, not only because he needed her to gain access to the lab, but also because Sherlock liked Molly even if not in the way she would have liked.

"Sherlock, where is John?" She again looked a bit unsure. Molly knew that he hated useless questions and small talk but this time it hurt him a bit. John was missing. He missed John and the people around him too.

"At the surgery, he had to go to work this morning." And with that he left not looking back.

* * *

The second stop was at the university; where he met two professors for zoology. After showing them the food prints, the fur, a blood sample and a dental imprint they couldn't help him.

So they sent him to expert of extinct animals. What was already a bit of limit for Sherlock and after the 'expert' had examined the evidence he was sent to a crypto zoologist.

And at that point Sherlock was no longer interested to listen to a so called expert. He didn't like to listen to the tales about wolf-like creatures that were man and wolf. Oh, come one, werewolves! He already had to deal with the incompetence of the police almost on a daily basis and his clients were most of the times idiots but a werewolf in London? Enough was enough. The cases Sherlock worked on often had many strange and at a first sign mystical causes but werewolves, no. There had to be another explanation for this.

* * *

Discouraged and without another idea where to go next he went home. He hoped enlightment would come when he reread the case files. Or maybe a comment from John would direct him in the right direction. Something like that.

John was already at home sitting in his chair with a tea in his hand and watching the news. For someone who wasn't Sherlock it could look like a normal day in the life of the doctor. But Sherlock was Sherlock and could see the slightly shaking hands which held an already cold tea, the white face, the fearful eyes fixed on the screen and the generally stressed aspect of his friend.

The news was a report about the serial killer case Sherlock was working on. The reporter had already found out about the killer with the beast. Sherlock took the remote control and turned off the television. It was then that John noticed his flat mate standing right beside him. He sat down opposite John in his own chair, eying his friend and waiting for a reaction. After a moment where John managed to somewhat collect himself, the doctor got up and walked into the kitchen.

"Would you like a tea? I came back just a few minutes ago." Sherlock knew it was a lie but he said nothing and accepted the offered tea.


	2. The revenge of the beast

**Chapter 2: The revenge of the beast**

After a few days where Sherlock had worked nonstop through all the evidence and information he had for the case he finally found a pattern. John was still not himself, working double shifts, hiding in his room and ignoring Sherlock and especially the case most of the time. He didn't even remind Sherlock to eat or sleep. There was a quick cup of tea in the morning but not like on a normal case.

So he didn't tell John about it because his friend's behavior was getting stranger from day to day. Without informing him, Sherlock headed to Scotland Yard to meet up with Lestrade and maybe build a plan to catch the killer and the beast.

After arriving Sherlock told the Yarders what all victims had in common. They were all criminals.

The first victim Jeffrey August, 42, had been in a pub a few hours before he was killed. He had met a young woman, he flirted with her but she pushed him off. He got angry and started a fight with the barkeeper. He was made to leave. But instead of heading home he waited close to the pub door for the woman to come out, followed her into the first dark alley and attacked her. Sherlock had found the report he had looked for the place where the victim had been taken. Jeffrey August had tried to rape the woman but quote 'a huge black shadow' had taken her attacker away and she had run to the next police station.

Second victim, Georg McCarthy, 21, was the boss of a local youth gang, dealing with drugs, collecting protection money from small shops. He had been beating up a 16 year old boy who had tried to protect his grandfather who couldn't pay the protection money for his little shop. Witnesses had said that the beast was only seen as a big black light, too fast to see it properly and that it probably ran into the alley and took the attacker away.

The latest and third victim was the classical stalker typ. Her object of obsession was her ex-boyfriend's fiancé. He had left her because of her obsessive behavior and after he had found someone new, the fake phone calls had started. She appeared uninvited at their home and once had even poisoned the coffee only the new woman in her ex-boyfriend's life drank. This time she had had a knife in her handbag while entering their home. The woman was unharmed because before Audrey Rogers could attack her the beast had appeared, bit in her arm and pulled her away. She had lost the knife during that. It was in the hands of the police as evidence already.

All victims had been killed while committing a criminal act. All had been attack at the same time of night (around midnight) and all the crime scenes were the victims had been committing their crime of choice were in the same area, in places were normally no one would be around at that time of night. Sherlock explained his conclusions to Lestrade and his team.

Of cause there were a few voices in the crowd (Anderson) who weren't convinced at first but after Sherlock presented the reports from the crime scene were the victims were abducted no one questioned it anymore.

"Sherlock, in all the reports only the beast is mentioned; there is no description whatsoever of the murderer we are looking for." And finally one of them had understood what Sherlock had been trying to tell them.

"That's right, Lestrade, the beast was alone. That means it's either somehow trained to abduct a specific person or there is no person behind the beast or it was pure coincidence that all of our victims were about to commit a crime. But the universe is rarely that lazy. So I think we can rule out that it was coincidence and build a plan to catch the beast." A hum of agreement came from the others but they waited for Lestrade to talk.


	3. The hunted Beast

**Chapter 3: The hunted Beast**

Lestrade stood up in front of his men. "We can't wait for another crime to happen and hope that will be the exact time and place the beast will be around. Best we could set up ma few traps at strategic locations, near where crimes often happen. That means we need someone to act as bait, pretending he is committing a crime. We do not want another victim on our hands. Anyone want to volunteer?" A few hands slowly came up. No one was really excited about it but it was part of the job. Sherlock's hand was up as well.

"Sorry, Sherlock, but you are still a civilian and I can't let you do that. The best thing you can do is to find the optimal place for our trap." Lestrade didn't really seem to be sorry about not letting Sherlock do this and Sherlock huffed into his scarf. No one was going to stop him, when he had found the perfect location.

* * *

Police officers in civil were on the streets in teams of ten. Two played the crime, the other eight were armed and hidden waiting for the beast to appear. They (the police) had decided it was best to only use four places. They didn't have enough men to set more traps and guard them. To avoid panic spreading into the population they hadn't informed the public about what they were planning.

They set up an attempted murder scene, a drug deal resulting in a fight, an assault and a fake rape. Crimes similar or close to the ones the beast had stopped before. Sherlock wasn't convinced it would work so he and to his disappointment also Lestrade walked around the neighborhood looking for a real crime. Sherlock was looking, Lestrade was busy watching/following him and coordinating his team. Every fifteen minutes one of the fake crimes would happen and be repeated an hour later.

The first two nights nothing at all happened, neither was a real crime found by them, nor did the fake crimes lead to any form of success. On the other had there had been no new victims either which made the majority of the police force very happy. Not that Sherlock was hoping for a new victim, he just wanted to see the beast, catch or stop it and find out who was behind it. As he came home that night or better in the early morning, John was to his surprise still awake. Probably waiting for him.

"You know a fake crime won't work." Sherlock lifted one of his eyebrows. John hadn't shown interest in the case or the trap at all and now he was voicing an opinion. "Don't look at me like that. Lestrade told me about your great plan to catch the monster." John looked out of the window; the sky had begun to brighten.

"I know. That's the reason why I'm looking for a real crime to stop that and the beast. It will be a very efficient night if it works." John looked back to him in shock.

"You can't do that, what if the monster attacks you?" Sherlock could see the panic in the doctor's eyes. "Why is Lestrade allowing you to do that?"

"First: I don't need his permission. Second: he can babysit me all he wants or even better leave it. Third: I have a question for you now. Why do you call it a monster? Everyone else calls it beast." Sherlock watched John closely for any suspicious behavior.

"No reason. I better go to bed now. Have to work in the morning." With that he left.

"You don't have to wait up for me, you know." Sherlock called behind him but John just walked up to his room.

* * *

The third night he was at least more successful in finding a crime, a robbery to be precise, but only the fourth night they found the beast. Sherlock and Lestrade close to stopping the whole act heard a scream coming from an alley not ten meters from them. What they found was at the same time no surprise and the biggest surprise they had ever had.

Right in front of them was a huge black creature, standing over a man who had apparently tried to rob an old man who was also far too close to the beast. Lestrade called for backup and Sherlock walked slowly into the alley never letting the beast out of his sight, fixing it in the eyes. Beast and human were eye to eye. He could feel that this wasn't some mindless monster. It was intelligent and had feelings and was somehow familiar to him. Right now if someone had asked Sherlock he wouldn't have been able to say why, because he had no words for what he was feeling.

Sherlock heard Lestrade behind him catch his breath as he saw what Sherlock was doing. But the detective didn't want to risk infuriating or drawing too much attention from the beast and didn't call out to Sherlock to stop him. It wouldn't have worked anyway. Not two meters away from the beast Sherlock could see a scar on the left shoulder and the scent beneath the smell of the beast was something that he called home.

In his mind Sherlock could now feel answers starting to build. Answers he was not sure he could believe but the beast must have sensed it. It jumped back and ran into the night. Not one minute later back up arrived and Sherlock was more than happy that they had not caught their pray.

Making a weak excuse to Lestrade who was far too busy to stop him Sherlock practically ran home. He had to find out the truth about a few things.


	4. The tamed Beast

**Chapter 4: The tamed Beast**

As fast as Sherlock had made it home as slowly he walked up the stairs now. What he had felt in that alley as he was close to the beast was not fear or disgust or blind anger. It had been the feeling of safety and the feeling of home. The same feeling he always has when John was around him. When the world wasn't demanding so much attention from him anymore, when he relaxing and enjoying some peace and quiet with the only person he allowed to share his small world with him. That's what made John special; he created a place where his mind could rest. No one before had been able do that, nor Mycroft, nor Lestrade, nor his parents nor the drugs. Nothing was as powerful as John's presence.

He quietly opened the door to the flat and passed the hall without looking around. Sherlock knew where he had to look for his flat mate. Walking even slower than before but not as quietly to make sure the other party was aware of him he opened the last thing dividing him from the deepest, darkest secret of his friend.

The room was dark; the only light coming from outside the window where the stars were trying to shine against the brightly illuminated city sky. In the corner of the room was 'the beast', the creature they had hunted the last days. But Sherlock didn't see the beast anymore. All he could see was his friend who needed help.

Looking into John's black eyes he closed the distance between them. Standing in front of his friend, he could see him breathing heavily and fearful eyes watching him closely. Sherlock gave him a smile, not a big one just one of these smiles meant to reassure and say that everything was alright. Lifting his right hand he slowly laid it on his snout. The black fur under his fingers was soft and warm.

John's head began to sink onto the floor, probably exhausted from running around the city, away from the police and Sherlock. When he had laid down Sherlock sat down next to him, sliding closer until he could lie down next to his friend. His head on his friend's strong shoulder and one hand on his head rubbing it until both of them were asleep.

* * *

The morning after one of the 'monster nights' began like always. He woke up on the cold floor, naked. Pieces of fur and whatever he had destroyed scattered around him. The numb feeling in his head still present and his limps boneless and tired. But one thing was different today. John felt a heavy weight on his upper chest. His first thought was an injury but after opening his eyes and turning his head John got the shock of his life.

On his naked body lay his flat mate still sleeping. After many days on that case nearly without sleep it was no surprise the detective was sleeping like a child. The fact that Sherlock was here with him led John to only one possible conclusion. Sherlock knew and he had stayed with the monster without getting himself killed. John had thought that was impossible when he was transformed. Sherlock must have found a way to communicate with him to make sure he was safe. When it concerned Sherlock it was probably only about curiosity and forgetting things like safety.

John took his first deep breath, it was over and this was his last transformation for at least a year. He had time to think about how to handle this until it would happen again. Through his movement Sherlock started to wake, still groggy and in need of at least another few hours of sleep he sat up and looked around as if he was surprised realize the situation they were in.

Finally looking at John Sherlock yawned widely. "Morning, John, I would fancy a tea, what about you?" John must have stared at Sherlock like an idiot. How could he just ignore the fact that he had slept with his (very naked) flat mate who also happened to be a monster and killer on the floor?

"Everything all right? You don't look too good. I think a good breakfast is also in order. Or we can go out and eat something. You decide." Still staring at him John nodded once.

"I guess that means we are staying here." Getting up he held out one of his hands for John to take to get up and John surprising himself accepted the help. "I'll put on the kettle, you should go and get dressed; let's avoid Mrs. Hudson getting a heart attack." With that he left John alone to get dressed or jump out of the window, he wasn't sure yet which it would be.

* * *

Downstairs a cup of tea and two slices of toast with his favorite jam was waiting for him. Sherlock was busy with the next load of toast when John saw the mayhem. Sherlock had managed to transform their somewhat 'clean' kitchen (at least according to their standards) into a warzone. A broken cup was in the sink, the milk open next to the fridge, the sugar jar has lost most of its content, jam was glued to nearly every place in the kitchen, breadcrumbs built a trail from the toaster to the plate on the table and Sherlock had on him the same traces as the kitchen was showing. John couldn't stop himself and laughed. He laughed like he hadn't laughed in weeks, rubbing away the tears filling his eyes

"Why are you laughing?" Sherlock was confused as to what was so funny about making breakfast.

"Nothing, it's amazing what you are able to do with our kitchen in less than ten minutes." Looking around the place Sherlock saw what John meant and lowered his eyes.

"Sorry, didn't mean to." John stopped laughing and laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Never mind. Thank you for breakfast. It looks lovely. Let's sit and eat. And with that I mean both of us." Sherlock smiled. His old John was back nagging him about food.

* * *

Later that day, after breakfast and cleaning the kitchen (John had sent Sherlock away after he had used enough dishwashing liquid for a year and most of the kitchen had been covered with foam. Sherlock started to play the violin for John while cleaning.

They relaxed in their chairs with a fresh cup of tea. Sherlock ignored Lestrade's calls and messages the whole morning. The DI had therefore started to call John instead but he ignored it too.

It was Sherlock who started with the topic John had nearly forgotten. This was it with Sherlock: if he caught you he pulled you into his world without you even noticing it.

"Next time it will happen, say something. I will stay with you the whole time making sure nothing will happen. Promise me." Sherlock looked dead serious about babysitting a monster. John had to admit Sherlock probably was as the only one who had ever found a way to deal with it; John guessed it was his privilege.

"I promise."

* * *

 _AN: my next try into the world of fantasie, hope you liked it. Thanks to my beta reader Sandra who doesnt like storys about werewolfes and read it anyway._


End file.
